Happy Fosse Friday!

YOUGUYS what a day. The sun has come back out in strength after a dappled week and we resumed our splashing in the pool and dusky bbq’ing. We just had a pile of sausages and as we finished, Wolf says, ‘So we’ll have dinner later, right?’ It's 6 p.m. so apparently he’s fully acclimated to European dining hours. He'll be wanting to eat again as I'm climbing into bed with my book.

Here is a picture of a tree in the middle of a patio. Not our tree, not our patio, but I liked it so here you go.

We’re having more adventures with our septic system! We now have a LEAK, where the pipe enters the concrete tank. It DRIPS, youguys. DRIPS. Just imagine for a moment the collection bucket that Al has to empty every day. Our builder was meant to come out and fix it for us but then he got sick so instead he talked us through how to make this special concrete and apply it to the joint via Skype. I did the hard part of holding the phone camera while Al slopped around. The problem was, the leak never slowed down enough for the plaster to dry, so just when we'd get the right amount on, the concrete would get soaked through and then fall off in a big wet glop. So. It’s still not fixed. Phil saw the extent of the problem, though, so will be coming out next week and replacing the whole pipe and fitting. Or something like that. THIS IS NOT A SUBJECT MATTER I WANT TO LEARN ABOUT. (Plus I already have Claire, who knows it all.)

Now it’s Cold Shower O’Clock – I am covered with sweat and grass clippings from mowing the lawn and no way second dinner is happening until I’ve cleaned up.

See you tomorrow for our last day in France! It will be a day of eating the fridge bare, cleaning the house, and packing the car, a thrilling time all around.

Big hugs,
Essss

Ringing in the New Year, French-style

OMGYOUGUYS. HAPPY 2016 AND ALL THAT.

We are back in France. We arrived on Wednesday for a week of Ultimate Relaxation and we're on top of the game: we got enough food at the market to survive a nuclear winter and enough kindling to burn a witch. NOTHING will get in the way of our slippers, our fireplace, and our new years diet of all-day-grazing. It is officially GO TIME. (If by 'go,' we mean 'stop.)

Can I talk about these clementines for a second? There are not WORDS for how sweet these are. They were so ripe the bag itself was sticky from nectar oozing out of their skins. They're so soft you can squeeze them nearly flat (if you don't mind tempting an explosion). When you pop a wedge in your mouth, it's like a juicy citrus sugar bomb goes off and arghoushoqlahoalw

Obligatory Cheese and Charcuterie Board pic. That dried duck though! Why doesn't EVERY place sell duck jerky? They put it on salads here and call it Salade Perigord, the French's nod to healthy eating.

Youguys remember The Great Argentina Road Trip of Death? One thing made it worth it: this llama wool rug we got that's currently in our guest room here. Just LOOK at its thickness, its rough-soft handmade perfection. I can't wait for your feet to touch it when you come visit:

Also check out the view of the church's stained glass windows next door! When those bells go off at seven, this room just SINGS. You will LOVE it.

And now for random Fun Times Photos:

The Dordogne and stuff.

The church in nearby village Beaumont. BEAUMONT! All he wanted to do was dance!

Bergerac, acting all festive with the Christmas lights up, even while everything was shut. And I mean EVERYthing. Don't come here for New Year's Eve, youguys. TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's bubble bath time! Happy Sunday!

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

On France and all the noel

OMGYOUGUYS. We came down to France for the weekend and it turns out it is crazy beautiful in the winter. Who even KNEW. This time last winter we were knee-deep in reno work and dust so we pretty much slept in coats fully clothed and it was all What on Earth Were We Thinking Oh God It's Never Going to End Oh Whyyyy, so there was certainly little to no gallivanting around or enjoyment of the surrounds. But this year the work is nearly done and we have the freedom to beauty that only quiet allows.

When we woke this morning, the back fields and gardens were covered with frost, and in the minutes before the sun crested the hill with all the glorious saturation at its disposal, the world was black and white, glow and shadows. 

Speaking of reno work, we officially installed our wood burning stove yesterday! We got one with some magic level of efficiency and once you get it going, the heat it produces can be felt in the cheeks and toes and you start to get all pink and ruddy like some ice skater in a Dutch children's book.

Not pictured: ice skates, children. Tulips.

Curtains finally up! We're no longer a show for the neighbors!

Yesterday we took a walk around the village and this is the view from the front of the mairie. See the little house immediately to the right of the church? That's ours! 

I like to think before we had curtains the mayor was the one watching our show.

The front of our house is what was historically the market square, and as a result, all SORTS of shenanigans can happen there. This is what we were greeted with upon our arrival on Friday:

This pretty much trumps any decorations we had in mind. Also, is Santa supposed to act as the angel that's traditionally over the nativity? Well played, Mayor.

In a few minutes we're off to check out the village Christmas fair! Doesn't this look awesome? It's clearly sponsored by Microsoft Word Art. We don't actually know where the barn is, but you've seen the size of the village, how hard can it be to find?

Famous last words. If you never hear from me again, look for the clowns.

I hope you're having a lovely Sunday!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Esss

Let's get this day STARTED!

GOOD MORNING, YOUGUYS! Saturday, 9 a.m. here, and absolutely nothing new has happened since I've last seen you so who knows WHAT blog-puke is going to come out today.

So we've got this high-up tiny window in our bathroom that is too small for a curtain but too poorly placed to prevent our back neighbors from being able to see in, and this has caused Wolf some consternation. (I forget it's there; also, I'm shameless.) As a result, I ordered some frosted window film that I will attempt to cut and stick on there today. I'm not handy but I am OCD, so this is both the best and worst task I could ever assign myself. It's got all the elements of the perfect storm: cleaning, measuring, cleaning again, straightening edges, lining things up, cleaning again, getting rid of bubbles/that one random hair that came out of nowhere/dust - then stepping back and seeing it's not perfect and tearing it all down and starting the process over again. There may well be a lot of cursing in our bathroom today, and I am excited about it.

Then of course it will be Casserole Prep Time, then Get on Train with Casserole time, then PARTY WITH CASSEROLE TIME! I'm super good at parties because I am really awkward initially and then as soon as I'm comfortable I lose my filter which makes everybody else awkward and then I try to recover the situation by changing the subject and I'm pretty sure it always works.

Time to win the day!

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

On butterflies, a holiday home, and a new place to live

'No one can be sad while they're using wrist and hand and eye and every muscle of their body. . . It was the hardest work I'd ever done, and, while it lasted, one could think of nothing else. I said not long before that work and weakness are comforters. But sweat is the kindest creature of the three - far better than philosophy, as a cure for ill thoughts.' - C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

OMGYOUGUYS. I'm currently working from the back garden listening to my favourite jazz playlist on Spotify and I KID YOU NOT as soon as Brubeck came on, a host of butterflies flew in and fluttered around like a bunch of maniacs. COINCIDENCE? I think not (she says as she begins to pen a paper titled 'The Brubeck Butterfly Correlation').

Sidebar: I'm currently expecting a work call that is leading me to answer the home phone that I always pretend not to hear and as a result, I've just been privy to a sales call about the value of insuring my home's boiler. EFF YOU TELYPHONE. Also, why do I keep asking this sales person more questions? She's calling back in a week now! Her name is Stephanie! My boiler is old!

Back to the business at hand: please indulge me for a moment while I attempt to explain - perhaps miserably - my blog-esque absence of the past three months. It has not been a NORMAL three months. There was a visit to America in May (San Francisco, Oklahoma, and Arkansas, to be specific). There was an attempt to finalise the French house in anticipation of The First Visitors Not Us. And all of this - busy enough as it made things - happened to time exactly with - spontaneity of spontaneities, how quickly things grow - a house move here in London. And in the midst of all this stress, Alan's wonderful, good-humoured and beloved father passed away and the earth temporarily halted on its axis and grief paid a visit.

It has been - needless to say - a very full time. But slowly things are starting to steady and boxes are getting unpacked one by one and things are becoming more or less okay, or at least normal-looking. Which to be honest, I will totally settle for at this point.

Onward and upward! Would you like to see the French place? I'm thrilled by how it's coming together, even though there's still a lot to be done.

This is our dining room. That stone wall is like a million years old. Also I'm excellent at history. Also we're getting more chairs so if you're OCD like I am, DON'T PANIC. 

What you can't see: behind that painting is a chimney! For the wood-burning stove that we don't have! But it will be done. Oh yes. It will be done.

Youguys, look at that 1930's art deco chandelier. I got it from a French flea market for like FORTY EUROS. That's like twenty five cents in Great British Pounds. Or LESS even.

I don't have any photos of the bedrooms yet because I feel like they aren't finished - that said, I don't know what they need in order to become so - but hopefully by the end of summer they'll be closer to where I want them and then I can show you the whole place.

Speaking of rooms unseen: we've officially moved house here in London. A beautiful opportunity came up for a place in (deepest, darkest) Hackney and - despite reservations about moving out of bustling, central, civilized Islington - we saw a back garden, we saw a bigger kitchen, we saw an extra bedroom, and we jumped on it. They say we're still in Zone 2 but guys, I swear we're out in the country. There are TREES on our street. Like big, pretty ones, not scrawny little well-ordered ones. The houses have bay WINDOWS. We've met the NEIGHbors. They've given us welcome-to-the-street chocolates and a CARD. A CARD YOUGUYS. Signed by their KIDS. WHAT EVEN IS THIS! I'm equal parts terrified and delighted.

Inside the house, however, is a small world of chaos: prints lean against walls waiting for hanging, a tv sits on the floor, our clothes have already overflowed the lone wardrobe, and shoes lie everywhere. But each week something else finds a spot and in this small way we're getting there. Home home home.

Not pictured: home.

I hope your summer of 2015 is going well, and all my heart to you.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

On stuffed mice, Southwold, and road trips in France

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. - Rilke 

OMGYOUGUYS. So much has happened these past few weeks:

1. I made the world's most terrifying taxidermy mouse. He is my mangy little treasure and clearly the stuff that nightmares are made of:

I love him so much.

Also, I'm supposed to cut the wires now that he's stiffened, but I can't bring myself to do it. I suspect they're the only thing keeping him upright. (He's so jazz.)

2. A weekend in France indicated that spring arrives there sooner than here. We CYCLED. In the SUN. And we didn't die or need a jacket or ANYthing:

If you follow the lane to where it winds around to the right, you'll come to our back garden!* 

3. We also spent a weekend in Southwold! I'd like to say it's because I can't get enough of coastal England, but really it was because I bought an armchair on eBay and didn't notice until it was too late that it was listed as 'collection only.' 

'But think about how much money I saved!' she justifies, as she reserves a room in a seafront b&b. 

Luckily, Southwold has everything an English seaside town should: 

A pier with a retro arcade in which all the machines have been handmade by the town inventor:

Beach huts:

Village confectionary that advertises via vintage bicycle:

Seafood sold out of harbour-front shack:

Again with vintage bicycle. It's like this town was designed by Instagram.

And Lighthouse:

So really, I don't know HOW one could say I messed up here. 

France update! We officially did the Mega Move: we hired a van here in the UK, packed it full of random furniture and miscellany, and drove it the ten hours down to Bergerac. And I think it is safe to say WE WILL NEVER DO IT AGAIN. For one, our sat-nav apparently likes the scenic route, and the van barely fit through tiny village after tiny village. We suspected that nearby there was a highway - there had to have been! - but our garmin refused to guide us there, and our Michelin road map was unfortunately crammed somewhere in a box in the back of the van. Two, an old man in a truck totally took off the van's side mirror when he barreled past us (while we were pulled over, mind), before promptly disappearing into the wind like so many old men going renegade in the French countryside. All we could see was his wild, white, bush-like hair retreating into the distance, his own mirror clattering along. 

It also turns out life in France is a lot like camping. Like how you have to bathe with a garden hose because your builder has gutted your bathroom in the process of installing a new shower. You would think a hose-shower in the cold dawn of early spring would be romantic, except you're also doing it while standing barefoot on what feels like frozen concrete, overlooking the back lane that the neighbors also enjoy. The same neighbors who - after months of being nowhere to be seen - started to appear en masse over the course of the week. (I refuse to believe there is a connection. Also, they are WAY friendlier than stories would have you believe.) Luckily, I've been practicing Not Showering for years, so I handled seven days of filth like a pro.

Also, I think Alan tried to kill me in the act of gardening. There was a thorny little tree climbing up the side of the house (and more importantly, scratching heck out of the top of the rental van) and finally, in a fit of agitation, I decided it needed to come down. We had intended to trim this tree 'eventually, down the road' - but after two days of it attacking us every time we approached, I had enough. I grabbed the hedge-trimming shears, and with a strength known only to enraged hulks, WENT TO TOWN ON IT. It didn't stand a chance. Branches are flying everywhere. And as I was nearly done, Alan grabs the tree and gives it the final yank that will pull it from the wall. And DIRECTLY ONTO MY HEAD. MY HEAD YOU GUYS. A THORNY TREE ON MY HEAD. And as my face and bare arms are being scratched to pieces by this barren twiggy tree completely enveloping my person, I'm pretty sure Alan just stood there, possibly smoking a cigarette. He claimed later that he reacted immediately, but I think we can all agree I was encompassed for about an hour. By the time I emerged, it looked like I had been attacked by a pack of wild cats.

Thank God I could at least clean my scratches under a bone-chilling hose shower.

But it's coming together. Trials and tribulations aside, with each visit down, it starts to look less like a skip and more like a dusty, dirty, box-filled home. We haven't been able to unpack anything yet - our contractor has dust-clothes and plastic draped over every surface - but soon. Soon our stuff will be laid out to collect dust the good-old fashioned way.

I can't wait.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

*I didn't say we cycled FAR. I'm still ME.

On cycling, taxidermy, and very little else

There are some days when I think I'm going to die from an overdose of satisfaction. - Salvadore Dali

OMGYOUGUYS. I am having the best day ever and it's only eleven a.m. Get this: I just got a BIKE. And I RODE it.  For five whole minutes, on the streets of London. I never felt so alive. The wind in my face, the sweat under my coat (from terror rather than exertion, it must be said), the ground so far beneath me that I felt like I was flying: it was incredible. I thought I'd die of fright and thrill. I'll obviously never do it again - my heart just couldn't take it, and I don't have the fearlessness in me that cycling in London requires - but I'll be happy when we take it down to France-house and I can use it to get to and from the nearby lake. I'm going to put flowers in the basket on mother effing PRINCIPLE. And also baguettes, even though I can't stand them (I am pretty sure they are only good as baseball bats). It will be so romantic. I will ding my little bell merrily all the way there. Forget towels and lotion, that's for people with no imagination. And if anybody gives me that judgy French look when I pull up, I'm just going to haughtily untie the ribbon of my charming straw hat, slowly reach for the baguette, and then whack them across the face with it. LIVING THE DREAM!

And in even more exciting news, I've got a taxidermy course today! I am going to learn how to stuff and mount a mouse. I cannot wait. I'm going to give him a little stop sign and use him to warn off the living mice that are no doubt lurking in our ancient Victorian walls and plotting to take over our kitchen.

What a day of firsts!

And because it's been too long since I've posted a completely irrelevant photo of Lake Garda, here you are:

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

It is our responsibilities, not ourselves, that we should take seriously. - Peter Ustinov

Do you guys know the number one google search that directs people to my blog? It's the source of a TON of traffic. An ALARMING ton, because it's - are you ready for this? - ZOO PORN. I KNOW. I don't even know WHAT* those people are hoping to find, but imagine how disappointed they must be when they arrive on this post and there's only, like, some post-coital zebras smoking cigarettes.

In other news, look what we found sitting on the bed when we landed at Frank and Betty's yesterday: these cookbooks from Alan's sister Marie! They're a housewarming gift for the French house because MARIE KNOWS.** They fill me with warm fuzzies because it is exactly these sorts of additions that will turn it from a nice getaway into a real home-away-from-home. Check this out:

Do you love Floyd as much as I do? I'm already glad I have this, because I never knew one should do their cooking in a tux in France and I could have really embarrassed myself. 

Okay, off we go! A wedding in three hours and this bathrobe is going to look ridiculous if I don't at least add a flower.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

*I mean, I can guess, but I DON'T WANT TO.
**The best places for heart-stabbing.

Survival of the Fittest

YOUGUYS. We did it. We survived IKEA. We did not, however, build that bed at 9p.m. when we finally got home. We threw the mattress on the floor, covered it with the wrong-sized sheets (I was blind by the time we got to IKEA's linen section, heavens knows WHAT I got, also did you know all French pillows - and therefore pillowcases - are square, and flat sheets don't exist?), and crashed out with boxes of pizza on our stomachs and Gilmore Girls playing on the laptop. It was a day and a HALF.

Saturday was also a success*: much closer to home than Bordeaux's IKEA, Bergerac has an area that can best be described as Mueble Mile - furniture warehouse followed by appliance warehouse followed by cheesy home decor shop, over and over again. It was beautifully functional except EVERYTHING CLOSES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. If you want to buy anything from 12:30 to 2:30, you are out of luck. So that was nice.  But before that closure, the kettle, toaster, and coffee grinder were won. THE STUFF OF SURVIVAL.

So we are getting there! Breakfast stools are in place, so now dining can occur at the kitchen island rather than the floor. A couch is had, thanks to Mueble Mile. Two lamps. That blasted built-at-last guest bed that I don't trust, because WHY ARE THERE EIGHT EXTRA SCREWS. By the time I noticed those - lounging around in their little plastic bag, looking all innocent - it was midnight and my hands were full of splinters and my back was screaming profanities, so EFF FIGURING THAT ONE OUT. THEY CANNOT BE IMPORTANT.**

That moment you hit a store's home office section, find the nearest chair on castors and have a spin session. Because you are on the brink of madness and this is the only answer.

Now I'm officially back in London-town, blogging from a laptop propped on my now-Thai-food-laden stomach, and already planning for the next adventure. Right after I finish burning these assembly instructions.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

* I define these things loosely.
**You're welcome to the guest room whenever you like! 

Happy IKEA Day!

By the time you are reading this, we have landed in Bordeaux, picked up a van, and headed to IKEA for The Mega Shop of the Century. We have to get plates and pots and pans and sheets and light bulbs and lamps to put them in; a bed frame for the guest room - or at the very least a mattress (forget the master bedroom, that is going to take ages) - and while I think this is going to be the most fun a person can have on the whole entire of planet Earth, I know by the end Alan will have retreated into a dark and silent place. A place where the language consists of only three phrases: 'Fine,' 'Just Get It,' and 'I Can't Tell the Difference,' these muttered while slumped over the edge of the cart, the posture of a depleted and broken man, who won't be revived until a hot dog is placed in his listless hands.

And THEN comes the joy of assembly. Because nothing follows a day of OOH! OOH! I NEEEED IT! like opening that orange plastic toolkit at nine p.m. knowing that if you want to sleep, you have to build a bed, and they've given you an allen wrench to do it.

Wish us luck! Hopefully by the end of this weekend, we'll be one step closer to an inhabitable home and all its delights.

The Swiss Alps, from July. This is like the opposite of our weekend.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss